Thursday, December 9, 2010

Cultural Marxism

It is not simply a question of manners: a goodhearted and well-meaning person may unintentionally offend others without knowing he is giving offense, while a cultivated gentleman may go through life without giving much offense but act like a total bastard when it suits him. Neither one can be precisely called a Jerk. All Jerks are rude, but not all rude people are Jerks; all Jerks are self-important, but not all self-important people are Jerks. Many crude and badly dressed people are amenable to instruction. The Jerk by contrast is a law unto himself. I distinguish between the man who wears blue jeans and sweatshirt to Church, because he does not know better, from the man who knows what is expected but argues back, “God does not really care how I dress.” I remind such people of the fate of the wedding guest who came without the right clothing. It starts early, even before the high school dances for which the girls spend days in preparation and their loutish dates are hard pressed to wear clean bluejeans. The louts know, at least dimly, but they don’t care. Now let us hear from the Mens Movement louts about how it is all the girl’s fault for being immoral, how men are really the victims, or how it is manly to grope women and address them with slimy language. Not to beat a dead horse, but most people who join identity movements–female, male, Gay, White, Black–are Jerks with a capital J, because they roam the world seeking the ruin, if not of souls, then at least of parties and conversations and domestic tranquility.


cakid said...

As the mother of 8 sons...and 11 daughters, I can attest to the truth of your statement about the girls spending days (months, really) in preparation and the boys just throwing something together. My sons happen to be party-peacocks, having caught the fever from their sisters, but I pity the poor boys who have no one to tell them what is appropriate to wear to a special occasion.

Our recent homecoming dinner and dance gave me the opportunity to witness girls dressed beautifully and their dates...dismally! My son, Tristan, wore a wonderfully tailored suit (thrifted for $20) and coordinated his shirt and tie (flea market finds) to his date's dress and corsage. They were a stunning couple amidst the crowd of boys who looked wrinkled and underdressed and girls who'd spent extravagantly on dresses and exotic hair and nails! Oh, for the days of dapper men and chic women - don't we long for it!

BTW, do you recall that darling tow headed toddler in our family, Mary Eileen? That is the very same Tristan that I write of. He is still as sweet as when you cared for him as our nanny!

elena maria vidal said...

M.W., is that you? It has to be, no one else has so many children! Yes, I remember darling Tristan! Great to hear from you!